When it feels like nothing else matters,
by mieh
Summary: will you put your arms around me?


She drags herself upstairs and he's sitting at her doorstep, elbows on his knees, head knocked back against the door. He looks like he's been there for a while.

"What are you doing here, Harvey?" she breathes out tiredly, making it clear she would brush past him if he wasn't blocking her way.

He gets back on his feet before answering, "Waiting for you."

"It's been a long day, Harvey, I'm tired."

She didn't need to announce it, actually. She looks exhausted and she sounds drunk. It's a subtle slur of her words and she keeps her composure, but he's seen her drunk enough times to notice.

She unlocks the door and is probably planning on turning around and sending him away, shutting the door on his face, but he doesn't wait for it and steps inside right after her. Her surprise makes her take a step back. It's enough for him to come inside and close the door behind himself and ultimately she looks too tired to protest.

She hangs her coat neatly in the closet by the front door, not offering to take his.

"I need a shower," she announces and moves down the corridor, leaving Harvey standing in the foyer. He watches her walk away further into the apartment and take a turn he knows leads to her bedroom before shrugging off his coat, hanging it beside hers and moving to her kitchen to fix himself a drink. He ponders she's not in a wine mood and pours then both a double shot of scotch.

He hears the sound of the shower turning on but it's not until at least half an hour latter that she reappears in the living room. He had almost drifted off on the couch when the movement near him shakes him awake, not having heard the soft padding of her bare feet against the hardwood.

She's wearing a long silky robe and her hair is wet, her eyes red rimmed and she looks fragile like he's never imagined she could possibly look. He extends her the glass he has waiting but is almost surprised when she accepts.

He doesn't know what to say. He wishes he could've been there for her then so he decided to be here for her now, but just being in her living room doesn't feel like enough, especially when she looks like she very much wants him to leave. He works really hard, like he's been doing all day long, to put her needs above his own. To remember that her pain over losing her father greatly exceeds his by her rejection, by her not letting him be there for her. By her choosing someone else over him when she needed someone the most. He ponders it's a selfish thought, but it doesn't make it any less real.

"I'm sorry, Donna," he finally says something. It's the obvious, but he hadn't said it yet.

She steps ahead and sits beside him on the couch, folding her legs up and melting into the cushions.

"You're pissed at me," she says, but not like she's sorry.

"I'm not pissed at you," he reassures and he means it. He's hurt but that's it. "How were things there? I didn't think you'd be back today."

"How did you even know I'd be back tonight?"

"I asked Mike to keep me posted."

Mike had called her in the afternoon to express his sentiments and had privileged information through Rachel. She didn't let her friend fly in to the funeral, arguing it wasn't necessary and there wasn't enough time seeing as it was all supposed to happen so quickly, but Rachel kept in touch throughout the entire day. She's lost in thoughts of her friend when she hears his voice again.

"You kept everybody out, Donna."

She looks at him and he seems hurt, but she's in so much pain herself it barely registers.

"I didn't, Harvey. I let everybody know what happened and they expressed their sentiments and I appreciate it."

"Bullshit."

"_Excuse me?"_

"You didn't let anybody be there for you, Donna." He wants to say 'but Thomas', but bites his tongue.

"I didn't have time, Harvey. I had to be there for my mom and my uncle and—"

"Did you even listen to me? You needed people to be there _for you_."

She frowns and he knows it's a hard concept for her to grasp. It had taken him a long time but now he finally gets it. He finally understands that as good as she is at anticipating everyone's needs, she couldn't see her own. Professionally, maybe. But when it was personal? Hell no. She doesn't know how to ask for help and she has no idea how to accept it – this last lesson he had only learnt today as he beat himself up for not being more forceful, for not imposing his presence on her. For not being there for her. That's when he decided to wait at her door.

"Talk to me. _Please._"

Her eyes get redder and he watches her use every bit of power she has to command the moisture to not stream down her face.

"I don't really have anything to say," she shrugs. "He's my dad and it was… horrible." Her voice breaks and that rips his heart out more than anything.

"I didn't hate him, Donna," he hers himself say, desperate to make himself heard after what had happened that morning. "I know he loved you very much and that none of his mistakes could ever change that."

That's when she can't hold on any longer. Her pain wins over her stubbornness and tears start streaming down her face. She bites her lips forcefully, maybe trying to stop the tears or the sobs or just hurt a little bit more and he doesn't know what to do. Thinks he maybe made it worse while trying to make it better.

"Donna…" she's right beside him, crying and vulnerable and he wants so badly to reach out and physically comfort her. He hates that their relationship is fucked up to the point he doesn't know if he can. He doesn't know if touching her could break her, or him, or them. He's never seen her cry like this; she's never lost so much control in front of him and that's terrifying.

"I'm sorry I made you feel like you couldn't count on me to be there for you. Or that I hated him. I didn't, Don. I really didn't. I hated what he did, and you would too if you weren't so goddamn good, and it took awhile for me to realize, but I know how much he loved you and that was more than enough for me to respect the guy."

He's honest because that's the least he can do for her and because she wouldn't even register his words if they didn't stem from the most pure form of sincerity.

"I'm sorry he's gone."

She cries for her dad and for every bit of love that died with him and because this is the first time in this god awful day she feels safe enough to cry. Everything inside of her has been emptied out and replaced with pain and she feels like she'll fall off the face of the earth at any second because her father is no longer there to hold her to existence.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there for you. I wanted to be."

And just when she feels like she's falling, he holds her down.

First it's his hands wrapping around her wrist. She doesn't realize what's happening until he tugs on her lightly. She looks into his brown eyes, so deep with sorrow, lips pressed tightly together, and then his hand is on her face. He wipes her tears away, his hand soft and warm, but more tears stream down so he settles for just caressing her, thumb smoothing down her cheek, left hand still holding her wrist and he pulls her closer, holding her in his arm.

Her head comes to rest on his shoulder without her thinking of it. He tugs her and smoothes his hands over her damp hair and her robe covered back. She pulls him in, fingers digging into his shirt, trying to find something to hold on to until her arms wrap around his middle and she melts into him.

She doesn't know how long it takes. It's a while feeling his hands smooth over her back and hair, until her sobs subside and she's breathing slowly into the crook of his neck, all wrapped in his arms and disheveled on the couch. She's almost on his lap, with her knee resting at the side of his body and her robe having pulled a bit too much to the side, exposing her thigh.

She doesn't want to move. His body is solid against her. He smells woody and comforting and warm and his hands are strong over her body. He moves his face in a caress and she feels his five o'clock shadow rasp over her temple, dragging a few strands of hair on its way.

It makes her feel so much better and the acknowledgement of not hurting so much for a moment is all the rational thought she can muster. All she knows is the closer she is to him the less she hurts. So she pulls herself closer.

She smoothes her face on his neck, breathing in his scent, feeling the shortest strands of the growing facial hair of his jaw on the soft skin of her cheek bones and then dragging her mouth along the tiniest bit of exposed skin on the side of his neck until it reaches his collar.

Her fingers dig into his back, raking over his shirt. She feels his muscles contracting under her hands and drags them to his neck in a languid motion. He breathes in heavily and she feels it. She feels it in her chest, pressed up against his, and she feels it in her mouth, barely an inch away from is.

When he breathes out her name, his hot breath touches her lips and her open mouth drags even closer to his.

Her mouth touches his and he doesn't move, but the rise and fall of his chest against hers becomes aggressive, up and down and desperate. It makes her feel better like everything else about him.

Suddenly they're both very aware of the frailty of the fabric over her body. Thin and slippery and secured only by a loose knot around her waist while her uncovered thigh rests on his lap.

She starts pulling on his tie and it's all wrong. She manages to undo two of the buttons on his shirt before he holds both of her wrists, mumbling her name. It goes unheard as she reaches forward and drags her lips over his.

It makes him weak and lost for consciousness for a second and it's enough for her to fist the fabric of his shirt and pull him closer, kissing him fully in a slow and wet slide of her mouth on his.

He cups her face with both his hands, but instead of kissing her, he's pushing her away. She's carefully forced back with open mouth and breathless gasps.

"Don… stop."

She doesn't say anything but he knows by the pull of her body and the way her hooded eyes are fixed on his lips that, should him let go of her, she would just kiss him again.

"You're hurting," he whispers.

She delicately runs her index finger over his mouth, pausing on his bottom lip as she agrees, "Yes".

"You don't know what you're doing." He thinks of mentioning Thomas, but that's the least of his concerns.

"Yes, I do," she says and tries to move forward to kiss him again but he hold her in place.

He smooths his hands from her face to the sides of her neck and them around her back, maybe to soften the blow of his rejection, she thinks. But right now she doesn't care. She knows he doesn't want her this way, she just thought maybe he would comfort her… or maybe she's in too much much pain to think at all.

She reaches for him again, this time folding her arms around his neck as she bruises her lips against his. His mouth responds to her, reactive on impulse, molding to her lips in between his, all warm and wet in her ferocity.

Harvey cups her face and grabs her waist and she pants before she realizes he's actually pushing her away. He keeps them at a safe distance, not letting go of her in case she reaches for him again, and she feels a wave of humiliation crash over her pain.

She shrugs his fingers away from her body aggressively.

"Why the hell are you here, Harvey?" she goes back to insisting on the question.

"I'm here for you," he replies after a hard swallow of everything he's feeling.

"Well, evidently you're not."

Donna takes a moment to stare at him bluntly before pushing away from the couch. She adjusts her disheveled robe with her back turned on him and he's still not able to utter a single word.

Her tone is cold and emotionless when she looks down at him. "You know your way to the door."

He only moves after he hears the sound of her bedroom door getting shut. He places his elbows on his knees, cradles his head in his palms and tries to control his breathing to expel the combination of hurt and need.

His mind drifts to Kessler. Where the fuck was the asshole to leave her alone like this? He hated him. Hated him for being the one beside Donna when she needed the most, hated him for being the one Donna chose to be there for her when she heard about what happened. And hated him even more for not being here now.

Donna keeps lashing out at him and for once he doesn't mind being a punching bag. She had hit him hard when he tried to be there for her. He had quickly grabbed his phone, starting to make arrangements to take them to Connecticut when she knocked him down with her claims that she didn't need him there, didn't want him there and besides why did he even want to be there when he'd spent all those years hating her dad, she asked, but it wasn't so much a question as it was an attack.

Self defense. He understood, but he let her go.

He's not making the same mistake again now, though. He's not leaving her alone no matter what she says. But he also can't give in to what she wants.

She's just desperate for comfort. She's in pain and not thinking. He gets it. But he can't take advantage of her vulnerability like that. He'd hate himself; she'd hate him too, latter.

Then a second doubt nags at him. Was he putting his needs above hers once again? Maybe what she needs right now is to hate him. Maybe what she needs is to fuck him to get her mind somewhere else and hurt a little less. Maybe that's the comfort she needs even if he doesn't think that's the right thing to do. Even if she hates him tomorrow and that's another punch he needs to take.

Or maybe he's not putting his needs above hers because what he needs is _her_ and he just pushed her away.

He has no idea what the fuck is the right thing to do. She's the one who is supposed to tell him that, she always did.

He straightens himself back up and downs the scotch that's still waiting for him on the coffee table.

The fuck with what he thinks it's right or not, the fuck with Kessler, the fuck with tomorrow and the possibility she might hate him. He'll be here for her tonight in whatever way she needs him to.

He knocks lightly on the bedroom door, but lets himself in despite there being no answer.

She's laying on her side, hugging a pillow and still in the same robe. She hadn't pulled the covers over herself and she shivers lightly even though the weather is mild.

Harvey walks slowly to not disturb her and sits on the bed behind her back, leaning to pull the blanket on the foot of the bed over her body. He adjusts it around her shoulder, letting his hand stop there for a moment, caressing her with a thumb, before he rests back against the headboard with a sigh.

She moves, turning to face him, and he isn't surprised she's awake. He slides himself down until he's laying beside her and waits for Donna to say something or do something, but she doesn't. She's not even really looking at him, just staring blankly towards his chest.

He remembers she had once teased him about saying he didn't 'do the comfort thing'. Thinks on way she smirked and how at ease she was. It seems like lifetimes ago and it breaks his heart even harder.

But maybe for once what they both need is the same. For him to comfort her and for her to be comforted by him and it doesn't matter how that happens, just that it does. So he extends his arm on the pillow and her head comes to rest in the crook of his neck when he wraps the other arm around her body and pulls her to his chest.

She finally stops shivering.

He's dozing off to her soft breathing when he hears her voice whisper faintly in the distance that she broke up with Kessler and he doesn't know if he's dreaming.


End file.
